


Torchwood's Time Lady

by alSaqr



Series: The Exile [5]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29438817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alSaqr/pseuds/alSaqr
Summary: A Time Lord working for Torchwood? It's more likely than you think.A set of loosely-connected one-shots. Some of these stories are set before 'A Year To Forget', but it should be clear which.
Relationships: Gwen Cooper/Rhys Williams, Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness/Rodageitmososa, Owen Harper/Diane Holmes, Owen Harper/Toshiko Sato
Series: The Exile [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/20309
Comments: 5
Kudos: 1





	1. Brawlers (1/3)

**Author's Note:**

> TL;DR In the Waffle 'Verse, in short, seasons three and four of Torchwood don't happen, and season two covers a longer period of time, with some canon divergence. Because if Elisi and I can't use an AU 'verse to fix canon heartache, then what use is fanfiction, anyway?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jack told Roda to get a hobby, he meant something quiet. Something to turn her mind off after work and dealing with all the Time Lord bullshit, like... knitting. Or Netflix. There was something to be said, he supposed, about being careful what he wished for.

There were very few things that genuinely surprised Captain Jack Harkness, when it came down to it.

Between working as a Time Agent, as a con-man and for Torchwood, he had seen more than his fair share of weird, wonderful and generally unpleasant things. Daleks, rivalling Time Lords, weevil ring fights, dying… the dying was by far the worst. And yet somehow, what  _ always  _ managed to catch him off guard was not any of the alien things, or the danger or even the weird beauty that sometimes came through the Rift. No - it was his team.

Since the turn of the millennium, he’d been extra vigilant about changes in the behaviour of the people who worked for Torchwood; determined to never let what happened with Alex and the Millenium Bug happen ever again. He sent Gwen home when it was clear her relationship with Rhys was suffering. He took Owen for begrudging drinks when he was worried about what would happen if he drank alone. He held Ianto’s hand on the anniversary of Lisa’s death. And still, the things they had done had caught him off guard, from taking items from the Vaults to hooking up with aliens - mind you, arcateenians were  _ very  _ gorgeous - to trying to open the rift to find time-displaced lovers.

Torchwood was a lot, sometimes. It was no surprise that ‘death by Torchwood’ was not just an occupational hazard, but a common enough occurrence on what passed for a death certificate in a secret, underground organization. He was just relieved that - at least in recent years - the disasters that his team had gone through had been (at least not permanently) lethal. With the exception of course of the year that he and Roda had had on the Valiant, but that… wasn’t Torchwood, at least. He could rationalize his conscience with that.

It was the little things that helped him sleep at night.

Jack was not a heavy sleeper. In fact, there were nights during which he didn’t sleep at all; and for reasons he didn’t care to question, his body seemed fine with that. But that didn’t mean that sleep wasn’t  _ nice. _ Ianto was visiting his sister, it was Tosh’s usual day off, Owen had mysterious ‘plans’ and Gwen was taking the evening shift while Rhys was at some kind of conference in Aberystwyth. Jack had even finished all of his paperwork quicker than he’d expected. It had been a boring week, by all accounts and just for once, Jack had been considering the possibility of stealing a quick nap before sending Gwen home.

But he had settled down in his cubby hole for less than ten minutes when he heard the door grind and hiss open. Opening one eye he cocked his head, immediately on alert.

“Oh my god, what  _ happened _ ?”

Gwen’s distress was enough to jolt Jack out of his bed like it had an ejector seat installed. Pulling himself up and into the office he didn’t even bother to properly button up his shirt before making a beeline for her voice. The door was shutting and to his surprise, Owen was carting a limping figure in a bright orange top and black shorts and some kind of  _ helmet _ down towards the med bay. 

“Owen. What happened?”

As Jack strode over for a closer look, Gwen fussing and getting in Owen’s way only for him to snap at her, he could make out more details. Like the fact that the figure was wearing one roller skate, and their other foot was bare and mottled with colour. Or the fact that they were laughing, despite the others both bickering around them.

...and the fact that it was  _ Roda _ wearing one roller skate, a crash helmet, knee and elbow pads, and a bright orange and black outfit that wouldn’t have been out of place in a PE class.

“What happened,” replied Owen, grunting with the effort of helping Roda onto the bed, “is that our on-call alien is moonlighting as a jammer.”

Despite his shift into first aid mode, Owen had a look on his face that Jack could only describe as  _ ‘this is the funniest fucking thing that I’ve seen in weeks’ _ . Gwen’s brow, on the other hand, was knotted with concern, her expression bordering on disgust as she put a hand on Roda’s bare calf. Owen shooed her out of the way and Jack stepped in for a proper look, still trying to make sense of exactly what he was looking at.

Roda hardly seemed to have noticed him, her teeth grit in pain but a look in her eyes that betrayed the adrenaline still rushing through her system. There was no anger; she was still half grinning. But as Owen collected things from various trays and cupboards she gripped the edge of the bed, one leg held at an awkward angle. She rolled her eyes at Gwen, and winced as Owen returned and gingerly lifted one leg up and onto the bed, straightening it out and beginning to dab at it with what smelled like iodine.

It was then that Jack got a proper look at the bruise, and couldn’t help but suck in a breath of surprised air through his teeth. There was definitely a point where ‘that leg is bruised’ turned into ‘that bruise is leg-shaped’ and Roda was approaching it. Owen rolled up the side of her shirt, and there was an awful, purpling bruise spreading out from a deep scratch. It went under the waist of the shorts, and trailed down her leg in a kaleidoscope of splotches, and Jack couldn’t decide where he was supposed to look. Purple, blue, yellow in places… even with Roda’s metabolism, it was unpleasant. And to top it all off, the ankle not wearing a skate was  _ definitely  _ sprained, by Jack’s eye. It was twice the size it was meant to be, and Roda was clearly unable to put her weight on it.

“Roda, lamb, what the bloody hell happened?”

Gwen managed to form a sentence before Jack did, but he narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms and gave Roda the sternest glare he could muster. (The glare that meant he was frustrated, as opposed to angry, but also worried sick and also at a complete loss for what was going on. It was, he lamented, a concerningly common expression to wear around Roda.) He was definitely having trouble working out just what the hell was going on, himself.

“Did you get into a fight?” he asked, struggling not to put his hands on her and make sure that she was alright. “Weevil? Blowfish?” He paused, and looked at her feet. “...time… travel?”

Roda began to unbuckle her helmet as she looked over at Jack, a confused look on her face.

“No?” she replied, and Jack noticed that she’d split her lip to boot. Not badly, but the more he looked at her, the more concerned he got. “Just misjudged a juke.”

“A - a  _ what _ ?” Gwen tilted her head, confused.

Jack wracked his brain. Was that an alien? Some Time Lord thing? Why the outfit, though? Why the roller skates? Or skate, singular, technically.

Roda dropped the helmet onto the bed beside her and lifted an eyebrow. “A feint? Juking?” She frowned, wincing as Owen continued treating the bruise and graze on her leg. “I don’t exactly know Sol-3 sports, but it can’t  _ just _ be a roller derby term…”

Something snapped in Jack’s mind as the pieces slotted into place. Gwen made an understanding - if somewhat disapproving - noise and lobbed a handful of cotton wads at Owen’s request before shaking her head and walking away, apparently satisfied with the answer. Jack, however, felt as if all he could do for a good couple of seconds was stare. The get-up. The bruises. The fact that Roda had unexpectedly asked for Thursday evenings off a couple of months ago, and he’d been too relieved that she was actually resting to question  _ why. _ It all suddenly both made perfect sense, and made him want to tear his hair out.

“You joined a  _ roller derby  _ team?!”

Rather than the expression he’d expected - which was something that at least paid lip service to sheepishness - Roda beamed, barely reacting as Owen tended to her side. 

“Yeah! I can’t believe I qualified in my first year, but  _ apparently _ ,” she smirked, “I can take a hit.”

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. He had seen her take a hit more times than he liked, and his mind couldn’t help but drift. He remembered too well the times she had been hurt before, and the Master’s glee at the colours of bruises she had turned under his hands. Especially the ring of purple that never  _ really  _ faded, around her throat. And then there were the times she’d been hurt working for Torchwood, and like he did with  _ everyone  _ on his team, he had wished that it had been him limping home instead.

Not to mention the memories she had finally trusted him with, and the ways that he had hurt her, the first time they’d met… Trying to ignore the rising guilt he set his jaw and turned on Owen, grabbing his shoulder.

“Did you know about this?!”

Owen grinned like a jackal. “Not until last night. Mate of mine showed me a photo of the team down the pub, reckons he has a chance with one of ‘em.” He snorted a laugh, dropping another wad of cotton to the sheets and moving Roda’s hand to put pressure on the fresh one. She did so without arguing, and Jack wondered idly why she’d not just gotten first aid from the derby. Was it legal? Was she doing something underground? Was there even an actual league? Perhaps Ianto would know. “Thought I recognized Roda in the scrum, so I got you to give me the night off so I could go down to the warehouse and have a nosy.”

Jack ran a hand through his hair. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Well we couldn’t  _ both  _ go.”

At that, Roda reached over to thump Jack in the arm with her free hand. Jack rubbed his shoulder and looked at her reproachfully, but she only raised both eyebrows at him.

“I don’t need a  _ keeper _ . And anyway,  _ you’re  _ the one who told me to get a hobby.”

“To  _ relax, _ ” stressed Jack, despairingly. “I said to find a hobby to help you to  _ relax _ !”

“Your point being?” Roda continued to hold the cotton in place while Owen rotated her ankle, more or less concealing the grimace of pain as he tested it out. Her attention was half on the doctor - moving when he told her to - and half on Jack, expression torn between frustration and… disappointment? “It does help me relax!”

Jack threw his hand in the air, raising his voice despite himself. “It doesn’t help  _ me  _ relax!”

“That’s not the point!” protested Roda, narrowing her eyes. “What are you, my  _ father _ ?”

Owen almost dropped the sterile dressing he’d been peeling out of its packaging as he roared with laughter. Jack shot him a  _ look  _ to no effect; Owen, like Roda, was completely unashamed. (Gwen had wisely chosen to give them all the space to argue in peace. Jack hadn’t even heard a peep from her since she’d left.) 

“Look,” Jack began, running one hand through his hair. “You’re on my team, I feel responsible for you!”

Roda snorted, lifting her hand to allow Owen to smooth a wad of folded rayon over the cut on her side, securing it in place with a neat border of surgical tape. He  _ looked  _ like he was focusing, but Jack could tell he was very much paying attention to him and Roda going from bickering to outright arguing by the way that he only mumbled the instruction to come in and let him change the dressing tomorrow, before returning to her ankle.

Owen had put a stack of blankets underneath it to keep it elevated, and out of the corner of his eye Jack saw him dig out a kind of reusable instant ice-pack that they’d found in the rift debris once, snapping it to activate it. Before he had a chance to ask if Roda had a sprain or a break, however, she was responding to him with an increasingly agitated cadence to her voice.

“You know I am  _ centuries  _ older than you, right?”

Owen muttered something along the lines of ‘looking good for your age’ but both the immortal and the Time Lord ignored him. Jack narrowed his eyes, anger finally breaking into  _ his  _ voice as well.

“Then you should act it,” he snapped, waving a hand at her bruised body and the roller skates and the ice pack now wrapped around her ankle. “What if you’d been seriously hurt? What if we’d needed you tonight?”

“It’s my day off,” pointed out Roda. Jack shook his head.

“No such thing as a day off,” he lectured. “The twenty first century is where  _ everything- _ ”

“Are you really lecturing a  _ Time Lord  _ about the future?” spluttered Roda, incredulously.

“This is Torchwood, Roda,” continued Jack, half aware that he was directing his anger somewhere other than he’d meant it, “Not Gallifrey,” Roda flinched, “and not one of your heists. There are actual  _ rules  _ here.”

“Mummy and Daddy are fighting,” grinned Owen, in what might have been a vague attempt to ease the tension. Both Roda and Jack turned death glares on him, and he raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Jesus. Take a joke.” They both continued to glower, and Owen rolled his eyes. “Right. Can see where I’m not wanted. Roda, keep that leg up, don’t try to fucking walk on it ‘til I get back.” He glanced at his boss, and gave a jerk of his jaw by way of a nod. “Jack.”

Soon enough, he and Roda were alone in Torchwood’s medbay. Jack’s brow was so tightly knit that he was starting to get a headache, and he kept his arms crossed as he glared down at Roda, trying to decide what to say next. She was right; he  _ wasn’t  _ her father. And she  _ was  _ older than him. But irregular as her ‘employment’ was, she  _ was  _ one of his team. He  _ was  _ responsible for her. And God only knew that her survival instincts left a lot to be desired. It was hard enough to know she was alright without having to worry about what she got to when he wasn’t there to keep an eye on her. The state she was in was proof enough of that.

But what was  _ she  _ thinking? They rarely argued - at least not since The Year That Never Was. Any anxieties they’d had around each other had been well and truly washed away by that - or so he’d thought. Roda had trusted him enough to show him their first meeting, that was all out in the open. There weren’t lies between them, not anymore. And she didn’t need to tell him everything about her life anyway. If everyone else was allowed privacy, she was, too. And he trusted her with his life.

The question was, did he trust her with her own?

Jack sighed, trying to calm himself down before he spoke again. He settled down on the edge of the counter, wondering if lowering his mental barriers so that they could have some privacy would be a good idea or not. But apparently if Roda had something to say, she had no desire to be quiet about it.

“What’s your problem, Jack?” There was something else behind her indignation, but he couldn’t quite pick up on it. She tilted her head to one side. “I’ve been doing this for weeks. You’ve seen the bruises in the past.”

“I thought you were just… clumsy?” he replied, awkwardly. “On jobs. I figured you were bumping off things chasing weevils or something.”

“If you’d  _ asked _ -”

“I’m your boss.”

“Is that all we are?” Roda snorted. “Do you want me to wear a tracking bracelet? Am I still on probation after all these years?”

“I didn’t think you were keeping things from me!”

“I wasn’t,” responded Roda, with clear confusion. ‘Why don’t you trust me?’ went unspoken, and Jack wished she’d just understand what he was trying to get at. “It didn’t come up! I didn’t think I’d make the league, it’s just a  _ hobby _ .” 

“A hobby where you sprain your ankle and look almost as bad as you did when the Master-?”

Jack stopped himself, but not quick enough. Roda’s expression darkened.

“You know what, Jack?” she said through clenched teeth, ignoring Owen’s instructions and swinging her leg over the side of the bed. Jack’s hand went out to stop her instinctively but froze in the air at the sharpness in her eyes. “I think  _ you’re  _ the one that needs to relax.”

Jack abruptly straightened up as though someone had thrust a rod down the back of his shirt. His eyes narrowed defensively, a perfect mirror of Roda’s.

“I have my outlets.”

“Right,” said Roda, sardonically. She let her legs dangle, meeting Jack’s gaze unwaveringly. “Name  _ one _ .” Jack opened his mouth, and she just kept on talking. “Ever since I got here, I’ve hardly seen you leave the Hub.  _ Especially  _ since that year the Master tortured  _ both  _ of us.” Her jaw was tight, her eyes alive with anger. “You live here, you eat here, you sleep here. When did  _ you  _ last go out and just… let go?” Jack tried to speak again but she pushed in once more. “I wasn’t keeping  _ anything  _ from you. Ianto knew. Owen found out. It just never came up. I have fun,” she continued, “it tires me out and I make it in for work. And I’m not anyone’s prisoner anymore.” There was a pointed pause. “I thought  _ you  _ understood that, but I guess I’m just Torchwood’s Time Lady after all.”

Her feet hit the ground at the same time Jack put a hand out to stop her. She bumped into him and tried to brush it away, toe to toe, but he put himself between her and the stairs, wondering just how long she’d had all of this bottled up, and unable not to feel just a little  _ hurt _ . What had he done wrong? How long had she felt like she was just that? To him, of all people? It felt like a slap to the face, and he had no idea what to say, or how to take it.

“Roda…”

“So, yeah,” she said, obviously favouring one leg as she tried to glare him down. But Jack could see her shoulders sink, the fight going out of her now she’d said her piece, and could hear footsteps approaching the top of the stairs. They hadn’t exactly been… quiet. “Tell me again what  _ your  _ hobby is before you tell me I can’t have mine.”

“That’s not what I-!”

“Are we calling Ianto a hobby, now?” asked Owen, far too casually, as he lent on the barrier overlooking the med bay. He looked around Jack, and put on his ‘doctor voice’. “And you! Back on the bed!”

“I’m fine!” snapped Roda, at the same time that Jack replied: “Ianto is not a  _ hobby _ !”

“Oh yeah? Gwen?” Gwen popped her head up from her desk. “Pay up!”

Owen started down the stairs three at a time, shooing Jack out of the way and cutting the argument short as he wedged himself between them. He jabbed a finger in Roda’s direction - Jack noticed with relief that she at least did as she was told and shuffled petulantly back onto the bed - and grabbed the ice pack from where it had fallen, wrapping it back up in the towel.

Jack lost the energy for the fight, too, as the silence dragged on; but he was reluctant to let Roda think that going out and getting herself hurt was  _ okay. _ With a snort that said ‘I’m done’ he turned on his heel, brushing off Gwen as she tried to reach out and touch his arm to make sure he was okay. She shot him a wounded look but returned to his paperwork, and Jack slammed the door to his study behind him as he sank down behind his desk and swore. He pinched the bridge of his nose again, pushing papers out of the way and quietly simmering as he tried to calm down. The argument had been stupid an unnecessary… but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still mad. And he had the feeling as though Roda was, too.

His phone beeping jarred him from his self-pity, and Jack pulled it off his belt and glanced at the text message notification on the screen. Ordinarily, seeing Ianto’s name would have made him grin; instead, he was still high-strung, and thumbed it open without really paying attention to the words. The inbox popped open, and Jack forced himself to make sense of the words:

> _ Gwen texted me. Everyone ok? Need me back? x _

He stared at the message for a couple of minutes before typing up a quick reply, and getting up to find his coat. Roda was second in command; she was in no fit state to take command if something happened right now, but Owen and Gwen could hold their own for a couple of hours. Ianto’s flat wasn’t far away. Jack wouldn’t be missed and at the moment, it might be better if he made himself scarce and gave both him  _ and  _ Roda a chance to calm down. 

He and Roda could talk afterwards. Maybe Ianto would have some of his usual pearls of wisdom to give him, some miracle solution to the argument. Right now he was too pissed off and concerned in equal measure to think straight. But Ianto always knew what to say. This kind of argument called for his special touch.

And maybe a quick fuck.

But definitely advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole idea came from a chat with Elisi, and then grow into a whole _thing_. The team Roda has joined is the [Tiger Bay Brawlers](http://brawlers.co.uk/), hence the title.


	2. Brawlers (2/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack visits Torchwood's only real voice of reason, and Ianto figures out what the Captain is _actually_ angry about. Because Captain Jack Harkness is not an island.

“You will not  _ believe  _ what the hell Roda’s been up to.”

When Jack had texted ‘can I come over?’, Ianto had expected at least a little foreplay. Not that he always beat about the bush, of course, but usually he was pretty charming, even when he had something on his mind. But instead he had hardly opened the door when Jack stormed in, his expression dark, and started ranting about work.

Which - even without the rest of what was going on - was enough to throw Ianto for a loop. Because Jack was usually pretty good at bottling up his emotions and not, metaphorically, taking work out of the office. Apparently this time, whatever argument had happened back at the Hub was enough for Jack to take it seriously.

It had been serious enough for Gwen to text him on his night off, anyway. Luckily, he’d already been on the bus back from his sister’s, and it hadn’t interrupted anything. He went over the text in his head, trying to see if he could read between the lines. Jack and Roda bickered, but that seemed to be their  _ thing _ . At least since Roda had earned his trust, they hadn’t really argued, at least not the way that everyone else seemed to when they really needed a cup of tea and a nap. Ianto had always put it down to the fact that they’d seen - and been through - things that no one else at Torchwood could imagine, so the mundanities of life tended not to set them off. But he’d wondered if there were things they’d been biting down and apparently (whether or not they’d noticed it) he’d been right.

Gwen had sent three texts, about ten minutes apart. The first had been innocuous enough:

> _ Owen and Roda turned up. Roda’s sprained her ankle, poor lamb. _

Roda spraining her ankle hadn’t surprised Ianto in the slightest, and so he’d figured he could text her back in the morning. But then he’d got the follow up message, written with enough spelling mistakes that he suspected she’d written it very quickly, under the table, while trying not to be noticed:

> _ roda nd jadk arguing. Owen not hlping. Hlp! _

Followed up with:

> _ Jack stormed off, false alarm  _ 😖

And so he’d texted Jack to find out what was going on, and when Jack had asked if he could come round, he had of course said ‘yes’. Which had, of course, inevitably led to frantically throwing all of the dishes into the dishwasher and turning over the rug in the hopes of impressing a man who probably didn’t care about that kind of thing as much as the people Ianto had been with before did. But old habits died hard, and Lisa had been  _ particular  _ and so he’d done it anyway and then slumped on the couch for about five minutes before they’d been a knock on the door.

Jack threw his coat in the direction of the coat rack while Ianto shut the door behind him, rolling his eyes fondly. His partner dumped himself into the armchair of Ianto’s that he was fond of and dropped his head in his hands, looking particularly sorry for himself despite the frustration in his voice. Ianto glanced at his watch, trying to work out how quickly Jack had driven.  _ Very _ , was the answer.

“What happened?” he asked, wandering into the kitchen while Jack kicked off his boots and made himself comfortable. Filling the electric kettle with water he flicked it on and dug through the cupboards for a pair of clean mugs. “I mean, Gwen told me about Roda’s ankle.”

There was a short pause, and then Jack responded. “Did you know?”

Ianto blinked. “Know what? About the sprain?”

He glanced through the kitchen door, watching Jack throw a hand in the air with a barely contained noise of irritation.

“About the  _ roller derby _ .”

“Oh.” Ianto hesitated, ducking back into the kitchen. “Yes.”

_ That  _ time, Jack didn’t contain his outburst. “Did  _ everybody  _ know but me?!” Ianto heard his boots hit the ground and winced sympathetically. “ _ No one  _ thought to say anything?”

“To be fair,” responded Ianto, delicately, “it  _ is  _ off the clock.” He paused, choosing his words carefully to get what was actually bothering Jack out of him, rather than just telling him off. “I don’t think she was exactly hiding it.” The kettle boiled and he poured out two cups of instant coffee, stirring quickly before returning to the living room and depositing one on the coffee table in front of Jack.. “The Brawlers have a Facebook page.”

As Jack’s jaw dropped, Ianto sighed, patted Jack on the knee and reached over the side of the couch for where he’d left his laptop. He tapped the power button while Jack stared at the coffee mug as though he was trying to get it to explode, quickly typing in his password and loading his browser. Within a minute or two he had Facebook booted up, and he clicked onto the search bar and typed in  _ The Tiger Bay Brawlers  _ before handing the laptop to Jack.

Jack fell silent for a couple of minutes as he scrolled through the page, his glare not reduced in the least bit. Ianto watched his eyes dart back and forth as he read, sipping his coffee and resisting the urge to roll his eyes.  _ Clearly  _ it wasn’t all about the roller skating. He considered texting Roda, but he could get her side of the story later on. He didn’t  _ think  _ Roda had been keeping it from Jack - couldn’t think about any reason she’d have to do so - but she  _ was  _ secretive. There was certainly stuff that none of them knew about her (well, except perhaps Jack) and Ianto had never felt the need to pry. She usually spoke to someone when it was important.

While he was sure Jack was still distracted he pulled his phone out of his pocket, sending a quick text off to Gwen with one hand:

> _ Arguing about what? Ianto _

Gwen replied quickly, and Ianto thanked his stars that he’d thought to put his phone on silent as it vibrated on his knee:

> _ Owen says she joined a roller derby and Jack’s pissed he didn’t get to see her arse in shorts. Probably not that, tho x _

Ianto wiped a hand over his face just as Jack closed the laptop screen and passed it back to Ianto with a very measured expression. An expression that - in saying nothing at all - said an awful lot. The immortal took a deep breath, picked up his mug of coffee, drank the entire thing in one go, and then put it down on top of a stack of magazines that Ianto didn’t remember ever buying, but had probably been left behind by his sister.

“...why roller derby?”

Ianto spoke calmly, patting Jack on the knee as he shuffled closer to him.

“If I remember,” he said, carefully, “she heard an ad on the radio and it piqued her interest.” He shrugged. “You have to admit, it’s probably a better outlet for stress than chasing down weevils on a Thursday night.”

“Couldn’t she have found something… I dunno…” Jack ran his hand through his fringe, slumping in his chair. “Less dangerous?”

“There’s regulations,” pointed out Ianto, diplomatically. “Low injury rate, from what I was reading up on it.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t see the sight of her today.”

“Gwen said she… sprained her ankle?”

Jack winced. “Bust her lip, and her whole leg’s a sight. Looks like she  _ did  _ go one on one with a weevil.” He paused. “And  _ lost. _ ”

“But she’ll heal quick,” replied Ianto, hoping it sounded reassuring and didn’t sound like  _ he  _ was arguing, too. “Time Lord, and all.”

“That’s not the point,” snapped Jack. “What if she’d gotten  _ more _ hurt? What if she’d cracked her head open or something? Regenerated, blown her cover.”

“They have helmets.”

Ianto did roll his eyes, that time, and didn’t miss the look Jack gave him. He picked up the laptop, and scrolled back up through the still-open Facebook page. Sure enough, there was Roda, in the back of a photo of a training session that they’d shared a week or two back. And she was wearing all her gear, and grinning like ten birthdays had come at once as someone slung an arm over her shoulder and laughed at an unheard joke. He turned the monitor around, pointing it out to Jack.

“Helmet, knee pads, elbow pads, mouth guards, shin guards. Protective gear? She’s got it all. S’probably all she’s spent her paycheque on in months.” Closing the laptop again, he raised an eyebrow about Jack. “But… that’s not what’s bothering you, is it?” Jack opened his mouth and folded his arms, ready to argue, but Ianto raised a hand. “Roda can take care of herself. You know that.”

“I’m  _ responsible  _ for her.” 

Ianto shook his head. “What if it was Gwen playing derby?” Jack set his jaw. “She did field hockey in police academy, would you yell at her for that? Or Tosh? Owen? Me?”

“Who said anything about yelling?”

“Gwen was texting me,” admitted Ianto. “But you’d not be here if you just wanted my opinion on Roda’s hobbies, Jack.” He sighed. “ _ Talk  _ to me.”

There was a long silence, drawing out between them like something that could snap at any second. Ianto was sat forward on the couch, so close that his knee was touching Jack’s, and Jack had his arms crossed like he could launch into one of his ‘I’m the boss’ lectures at any moment. Ianto half expected him to but he was patient, and not scared of Jack. If he wanted to shout his feelings then so be it, he could chew him out and kick him out of bed later. But he didn’t think that he  _ would. _

Finally, Jack caved in and dropped his head into his hands once again, letting out a breath he’d apparently been holding in. Ianto reached out to rub his shoulder, making a sympathetic noise while he waited for Jack to speak again. When he did his voice was quiet, the anger all but gone to be replaced with what Ianto recognized as hurt. 

“Roda and I, we’ve been friends for years -  _ more  _ than friends,” said Jack, looking up at Ianto through tired eyes. “I thought she trusted me.”

Ianto stroked Jack’s shoulder gently, nodding. “She wasn’t hiding anything,” he reminded Jack, his voice equally quiet. “Of course she trusts you.”

“But is she only here because she has to be?” asked Jack, uncharacteristically morose. “Are we keeping her here?”

It took real effort for Ianto’s thoughts not to show on his face. He bit the inside of his cheek as he thought the question over, looking for the words to say to reassure Jack. Because maybe he didn’t know Roda as well as Jack did… but he didn’t think she was, or that they were. She was independent, wild at times, didn’t take anyone’s shit… but she was a member of their team. Their family. She stayed because she  _ wanted  _ to and she fussed over all of them almost as much as Jack did.

And it suddenly made perfect sense why Jack was both angry and stung by whatever Roda had said to him. Because if that was the impression she’d given him… well. Clearly something was eating at them  _ both. _

“Of course not,” replied Ianto, reassuringly. He stood up, inserting himself into Jack’s personal space as he sat back down on the edge of the coffee table and held onto Jack’s face. He pressed a kiss to his forehead - the way Jack would one of them - and smiled gently at him. “You two went through…” Ianto trailed off, but Jack nodded underneath his hands. Ianto didn’t know what they’d been through together; but Jack did. “Well. She’s one of us. I’m sure whatever she said she was just… frustrated.”

Jack closed his eyes, letting Ianto hold him. He was oddly vulnerable - vulnerable in a way that Ianto wasn’t accustomed to.

“I can’t… seeing her hurt, Ianto. She doesn’t… stop. Doesn’t say anything.” His voice was almost shaky. “I know the rest of you - you take a hit too bad, you’re down. You let someone take care of you. Roda  _ doesn’t  _ and it’s going to get her killed.” He swallowed. “ _ Again. _ And it’ll be because of me.”

Ianto hesitated, not sure what to say. Again there were all those stories left unspoken, places where he had to read between the lines. But they all remembered Roda leaving one day and returning with a different face and personality. Regeneration, she called it. She’d  _ died, _ and it wasn’t any easier to understand that it was when Jack did.

And she had never explained  _ how  _ it had happened, but he’d seen the way that Jack would tense up, sometimes, since she’d returned, catching sight of her. If the topic of her different-coloured eyes came up, or if they got into some kind of a mess at work, the way they tripped over each other to say ‘hurt me, instead’. The fears that Jack was having… Ianto had them every day that Jack and Roda left the Hub together and didn’t come back on time. Every day he was scared that one of them would disappear again and not return this time.

And if it ate  _ him  _ alive, he could only imagine what it did to Jack, too.

“We all know the risks.”

“I know,” said Jack, agitatedly. “You’re all big boys and girls.” He opened his eyes, trying for a joke that didn’t quite reach all the right places. “But if you had the choice to leave… would you?”

“You know I wouldn’t.” Ianto didn’t even have to think about the answer. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not going anywhere, and if we  _ do  _ get hurt,” he made Jack look him in the eye again. “It  _ isn’t  _ your fault.”

Jack looked at Ianto, looked at the ceiling, and then looked at his hands.

“During… that year. The… paradox.” Ianto nodded, encouraging him to keep talking. “Roda got hurt.  _ Really  _ hurt. And the Master… he used us against each other. One of us makes a wrong move, the other one pays the price. And the day Roda regenerated, I…” he swallowed hard. “Well let’s just say I couldn’t be fucked with his games that morning and I told him as much.” Ianto was about to say something - whatever you  _ could  _ say to that - when Jack looked up. “And I’ve hurt her. With my own hands. In the past…”

“You were a different man,” argued Ianto, before Jack could start to spiral. 

“Was I?” Jack sighed. “Or is that just what I tell myself so I can sleep at night. Fuck…” he looked down again. “Sometimes I wish she’d never told me. I mean, I know why she did… I’m glad she trusted me…”

“Of course she does,” soothed Ianto.

“But I wish I didn’t know, too,” concluded Jack. And then he pulled a face. “Except, I wish she’d told me about  _ this. _ ” He laughed bitterly. “I’m such a hypocrite, aren’t I?”

“You’re the Captain,” said Ianto, shaking his head. “We all know that.” He paused, touched Jack’s cheek. “Do you ever think maybe… maybe Roda lost her temper today ‘cause she knows you worry? Because she feels just as guilty as  _ you  _ do?” Jack didn’t say anything, and even while he wanted to comfort him, Ianto pushed through with the tough truths; it seemed to be working. “Neither of you are exactly good at  _ talking.  _ Maybe try that instead of shouting, next time?” He sighed. “And the derby is good for her, you know. We’ve talked about it a few times; I don’t think she really knows  _ why  _ she likes it. But it gives her somewhere to vent that isn’t work and home all muddled up. And that’s Torchwood for  _ both  _ of you.”

“Hmm.”

“And y’know, she’s not stupid.” Ianto chuckled fondly. “If she came to the Hub when she  _ was _ hurt, then who do you think she trusts the most? Where does your wayward Time Lady come back to, at the end of the day?”

“I… yeah.”

Jack took a long breath in and out. And then he started to laugh, quietly, resting his head in Ianto’s shoulder. Ianto stood up, pulling Jack along with him and moving them both onto the couch as the older man just held onto him like a lifeline. He stroked Jack’s hair, hoping that he’d said the right thing to reassure him, and that he wasn’t just bottling up again. He’d pull Roda aside in the morning, too, if he had to; check on her and knock some sense into her like he (hopefully) had Jack.

The two sat there in silence for what felt like an eternity, Jack half in Ianto’s lap, almost as close as they could be. Despite the circumstances, Ianto felt himself relaxing as well. They didn’t get moments like this, as much as he would have liked. Moments of calm. Maybe he’d have to find a way to get Jack to come over late in the evening again some time; and not just for sex. They could rent a movie, maybe. Drink some wine. Relax. God knew Jack and Roda weren’t the  _ only _ ones who needed to unwind.

“Yeah. You’re right.”

Eventually they pulled apart and Jack gave him a long, searching look. The kind of appraisal that was less about checking him out, and more like approval of another kind. Ianto almost blushed, before he caught himself. It was nice to be appreciated for something that didn’t involve a stopwatch.

Sensing the miniscule fight within the Welshman Jack laughed, rubbing his face with the back of one hand. He put his hand on Ianto’s cheek and pulled him into a quick kiss, already looking more like his usual self than he had when he’d arrived. Ianto smiled as they pulled apart, relieved by Jack’s improved mood, and glanced at the clock. It was late. He’d probably stay the night. Ianto chastised himself for being excited about it. Then again, it wasn’t as though Jack was likely to complain.

“How did you get so smart?”

Ianto pressed another kiss to Jack’s forehead, and pulled him into his lap. 

“Putting up with all of you lot, Sir.”

There’d been enough guilt for today. For now, he just wanted to stay close to his Captain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little missing scene coming up to round this trio off - I'll link to it when it's written.


	3. Brawlers (3/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ianto was sure he should have realised that if _one_ of his emotionally stunted immortals needed to talk, so did the other one.

Ianto Jones’ phone went off at three in the morning.

Late night text messages were not an unknown occurrence, in and of themselves. Working for Torchwood meant keeping strange hours, and not expecting to keep to a schedule no matter  _ how  _ hard you tried. And for years, Ianto’s life had become an endless loop of come into Torchwood, do paperwork, call Rhiannon, spend the night with Jack, rinse repeat. Torchwood wasn’t just work, not really, no matter how successful Gwen was at putting up boundaries and attempting to stick to them. It was a life that you either lived long enough to get killed by, or walked out of and got retconned before the sun was rising. For better or worse, nobody ever left… or retired.

But what was strange about the phone ringing on  _ this  _ particular night was that usually, when there was an emergency in the office, it was Jack who called him. (And even then, only if nobody else could come in, and less and less since they’d got a Time Lady who never seemed to sleep on the pay roster.) Except tonight, Captain Jack Harkness was sprawled out in Ianto’s bed, completely naked and snoring. Loudly.

A light sleeper by all accounts, Ianto was quick to reach over to the bedside table and grab his mobile, quickly unlocking the screen and answering the call in one motion. He tucked it between his ear and his shoulder as he rubbed his eyes and glanced at Jack, but his lover was well and truly out like a light. As he mumbled a greeting and did his best to wake up properly, he supposed it was only fair if he sounded a  _ little  _ put out. After all, Jack had kept him up quite a bit past his usual bedtime.

“‘Lo?” he managed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for his trousers and wondering if he’d have to wake up Jack. He hoped not; the man needed his sleep. “Ianto’s phone.”

“Ianto. Is Jack with you?”

Ianto stifled a lawn and let his trousers drop to the ground again. He found a dressing gown in a pile of discarded clothes that were due for the laundry, instead, knotting it loosely around his body as he stood up. Somehow, he had the feeling this wasn’t an emergency. And if it was, it was a personal one, not a work one. Making sure not to wake Jack he crept towards the door, cupping his hand over the speaker as he squeezed through a crack in the door and shut it gently behind him. Sinking back onto his couch a couple seconds later he rubbed his eyes, and decided not to stifle the next yawn. 

Roda was going to have to learn that humans tended to need their sleep sooner or later.

“He is,” he said, sleepily. At the other end of the line Roda sighed with obvious relief.

“Good. Good.” She paused, and then said something that Ianto was  _ reasonably  _ certain was a swear word, from the context. She’d only taught him a handful of Gallifreyan words and most of them were impossible enough to pronounce that he was never going to be able to keep a straight face when tourists complained about the perfectly logical phonetic rules of Welsh ever again. “...you were both asleep, weren’t you?”

Ianto laughed quietly, and ran a hand over his face. “We were.”

Roda swore again. “I - I’ll call in the morning. I just wanted to make sure he was-”

“He’s fine,” interrupted Ianto, gently. “Sleeping.”

“He’s…” Roda’s voice, much like Jack’s had been a couple of hours before, was uncharacteristically uncertain. Pained, but he would hasten a guess not from the bruises. “Is he angry?”

“No,” reassured Ianto, wondering not for the first time if they should have hired a therapist onto the team, by now. There’d been people to talk to at Torchwood One, but then they’d always had considerably more of a budget than Jack’s kettle and string operation. “He’s not angry. We had a talk.” Ianto scratched his jaw. “...are  _ you _ ?”

“Skaro, no!” He could practically see Roda’s eyes widening, and he heard her move the phone about, doing an almost perfect job of stopping him from hearing a wince of pain as she moved. So clearly, she wasn’t resting that leg as much as Jack or Owen or Gwen would’ve told her to. “Not anymore. I just… I said some…  _ things _ ,” she continued, desperately.

“I know,” replied Ianto, nodding to himself.

“And I think - I think Jack took them to hearts. Uh,  _ heart. _ Fuck. You know what I mean, Ianto, but I didn’t mean to - I was  _ stupid _ and I didn’t-!”

“He knows, Roda.” Ianto wondered idly if this was going to be a long conversation, too, and if he should put the kettle on. “It was just an argument.”

“But Jack and I  _ don’t  _ argue,” said Roda, almost a whine. “I don’t want him to think that I-”

Ianto took a deep breath, and interrupted yet again.

“Roda…”

“Right. Sorry. Yeah.” She swallowed hard, apparently brushing the keys of the phone. Ianto heard the telltale beeps, and pulled it away from his ear until it stopped deafening him while she fumbled awkwardly. “It’s - it’s three in the morning, you need to sleep, I’ll call you back later. Or not. I mean, I’m-”

“No. Roda.” He had to break through the babbling. “ _ Listen _ . You and Jack… do you think that not arguing might be the problem?” Surprisingly, Roda said nothing. Ianto continued. “You’re both only human.” A beat. “Metaphorically. Haven’t you both known each other long enough not to tiptoe?”

“I-”

“I’m not  _ nagging  _ you, I promise. But clearly, you both had a lot of stuff that you could have just  _ talked  _ about instead of yelling at each other because of a roller derby accident.”

Ianto took a deep breath, looked at the ceiling, and told himself off. He’d meant to be a little bit more delicate than that, but he was tired, and since he’d given Jack a bit of a bollocking Roda was owed one, too. It was easier to be sympathetic face to face, when it wasn’t the middle of the night, he reasoned. And they - Jack and Roda - both needed tough love every once in a while.

Roda went very quiet, and for a moment, Ianto thought she’d hung up on him. But then he realised he could still hear her breathing and pulled himself back to his feet, pacing to keep himself awake. The pacing took him in the direction of the kitchen and he leaned on the counter while he waited patiently for Roda to find her words, well aware that pushing her further was just going to set her off again. She needed someone to listen to her, even if she didn’t admit it. That was one thing he’d worked out on the day that they met. There was so much going on in her mind, so much guilt and memories, and honestly, he was more surprised that it had taken as long as it had for them to boil over than he was by the fact that they had.

There was still enough water in the kettle. Ianto picked his mug out of the sink, checking it for stray coffee grinds as he flicked the switch and waited for the tell-tale bubble of it beginning to boil. He dried his spoon off on the sleeve of his dressing gown and then finally, Roda spoke again.

“I’m at Owen’s.” Ianto raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Not… like that, or anything. But he said he didn’t trust me not to make my ankle worse again when Jack left, so he’s got me sleeping on his couch.”

Ianto grimaced, but let her change the subject. “What happened?”

Roda snorted. “We had a match tonight. Team from Plymouth. We won, by the way,” Ianto snorted, hearing her quiet laugh, “but I mistimed a juke - a feint - and one of the blockers from the other team hip-checked me into the centre. Not a penalty, or anything. I just landed bad."

“Jack says your leg is,” Ianto cleared his throat, “and I quote, ‘a sight’.”

“I mean… a little. But I’ve had worse.”

As the kettle clicked off, Ianto shook his head and refilled his mug. He gathered all of his diplomacy as he spooned instant coffee into the mug and stirred lazily, knowing that he had to say this  _ right  _ or there was a good chance she’d  _ actually  _ put the phone down on him. But she beat him to the punch.

“I know, I know… worse or not, no one wants to  _ see  _ me get hurt.” She paused. “But it’s not like I go out of my  _ way  _ to do it.”

Ianto restrained himself from pointing out that quite a lot of the time, it almost seemed like she did. He knew - or was at least relatively certain - that that wasn’t the case. “But we still worry.  _ Not _ ,” he stressed, his spoon clinking and clanking as he tossed it haphazardly back into the sink and relished in the smell of a fresh cup of coffee, “because we know you can’t handle it. But because we care about you.”

Roda sighed loudly, muttering something to herself in Gallifreyan. Ianto blew on his coffee to cool it down while he waited.

“...Jack knows I don’t think of Torchwood as a prison, right? Of course I don’t. I want to be here. I just, I was angry, my leg hurt, I didn’t get to finish the match.” She hesitated. “And I’ve been taking care of myself for centuries. He doesn’t need to fuss over me. I’ll live.”

“You know,” commented Ianto, as casually as he could muster, “maybe letting someone take care of you every once in a while isn’t a bad thing? If not for you, but for  _ our  _ peace of mind?” He sipped his coffee. “I’m glad you won your game. I’m glad you’ve found something to do with yourself. And I’m glad you’re letting Owen take care of you. So is Jack. About all three. But just… maybe let him worry, if you won’t worry about yourself. God knows  _ someone  _ needs to.”

Roda huffed. “Or maybe Jack can just lighten up.”

“Maybe he should,” agreed Ianto. “I’ve been trying to get him to find a hobby for years. But would it hurt to make it easier for him?”

“It’s just…” Roda clicked her tongue. “It’s not about the roller derby, is it?” Ianto shook his head to himself, well aware that she already knew the answer. “I’d just rather if  _ anyone  _ gets hurt at work, it’s me. The rest of you don’t heal as fast.” Ianto decided it was best not to point out, for the sake of argument, that Jack  _ literally  _ couldn’t die. “And every time Jack dies, I’m always thinking - what if he doesn’t get up this time? What if this is it? What if he just… just…”

“I know,” said Ianto, biting his lip. “We all do.”

Roda groaned. “Fuck, I… I’m being an idiot, aren’t I?”

“ _ Well _ ,” said Ianto, sardonically.

“ _ Obviously  _ you worry about him just as much as I do.” She paused, and then made an exasperated noise. “And that’s the point, isn’t it? I worry. He worries. We both worry. We all worry! I get it…” A groan. “What do I do, Ianto?”

“First of all? Let me get back to sleep, and talk to him in the morning.” Roda snorted. “Seriously, though. Bring him along to training, or something,” suggested Ianto. “Let him see you’re not going to break every bone in your body if someone looks at you the wrong way.”

It had the right effect. Roda barely stifled a bark of laughter, and Ianto smiled to himself. Getting through to the two thick-skulled people that he cared deeply about was an artform. He really should’ve been paid more for it than he was. But at least he’d gotten them both to calm down a little. They were stubborn as oxen. Jack had gone to bed at the very least unclenching his jaw, and he’d gotten Roda to laugh. They could work on the more ingrained stuff later on, but at least it seemed like neither was still unhappy with the other. Just, apparently, equally guilty for the things they’d said.

Roda was being argumentative - which she was very good at - but Ianto knew her well enough to know that a lot of it was putting up a front. After all,  _ she’d  _ called  _ him. _

“I didn’t mean to upset him,” said Roda, quietly. Ianto made a soothing noise down the phone, realising just how…  _ rough  _ she sounded. Vulnerable, just like Jack. If they’d just remember to show this side to each other once in a while, he’d probably not have had the two conversations he’d had tonight. “He knows that, right?”

“Of course he does.” Ianto rubbed his eyes, pulling the phone away from his ear long enough to glance at the clock. He wasn’t so sure he was going to get back to sleep again, but even the coffee wasn’t really waking him up. He put the mug down with a wistful, silent sigh. “And you know it goes both ways.”

“I know…”

“Roda… I can barely keep my eyes open.” Ianto laughed quietly. “I’m sorry. But the two of you’ll talk tomorrow - promise?”

Roda didn’t even hesitate. “Okay. Yeah. As long as Owen lets me off the couch.”

“ _ Please  _ use crutches if you need them?” asked Ianto, half-despairingly. Roda sighed dramatically.

“Fine. But I probably won’t. It’ll probably just be a bruise by the time you see me.”

“Take care of yourself, Roda. I mean it.”

“I’ll try. Goodnight, Ianto…. thank you.”

“Any time,” yawned Ianto, sincerely. “Just… maybe after seven, next time.” As Roda laughed again, he added: “but you and Jack. You’ll be fine. That’s what love is. Sometimes you just need to air the laundry.”

Roda made a strange noise, and Ianto wondered if perhaps he’d said the same thing. But when she spoke again her voice had finally softened.

“Sleep well, Ianto.”

“You too.

The phone clicked as Roda hung up, and Ianto let it drop to the couch with a weary, fond sigh. Idiots. Both of them. But at least he could go back to bed knowing that neither of them were actually angry, just like he’d suspected. Just emotionally stunted, and so much like each other… it would have been funny, how they were both so concerned about the same thing, if it hadn’t been so early in the morning.

Ianto made it back into bed still wearing his dressing gown and curled up against Jack with a contented sigh. It didn’t take long, despite his fears, for him to drift back off into an easy sleep, with the rise and fall of Jack’s chest under one hand and the phone very much abandoned in another room. After all of that, he felt like he deserved a lie-in. Just this once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with bonus art of Roda roller-skating, _without_ the added necessary angst of immortals who are emotionally backed-up. Art by [marsmalloey](http://toyhou.se/marsmalloey), who I mayyyy be commissioning to do more art because I'm weak.


End file.
